Back in 1996 during a trip to the Iniskea Islands off the North West tip of County Mayo a friend and I had the most magnificent encounter with some 300 grey seals.
We had spent five days on the two Islands (North Island and South Island) observing every aspect of its wildlife. The cool breeze of a light Northerly airflow had a calming effect on the sea, the mirror like surface reflecting the late winter sun. Luckily the cold winter chill didn’t find its way through the dry suit I always wore when on trips of this nature.
Day in day out we combed the Islands hoping to catch a glimpse of some of the estimated 1200 grey seal population living off the rich pickings of the surrounding seas.
The North Island is separated from it sister to the South by a narrow channel. Crossing the tidal passage was made all the more easy when relying on the propulsion provided by a set of diving fins.
Lying on my back, with underwater video gear resting on my stomach, I gently glided past exposed rock, seaweed and submerged reefs. Time passes slowly, a far cry from swimming the backstroke, gazing at the roof of the local indoor swimming pool.
It was a magic and calming experience, with only the cold salt water lapping against my face serving as a reminder of the dangers present. I began to feel at one with my surroundings, as if I had taken off one coat - that of the hustle and bustle of city life and exchanged it for another; that which surrounds you in a feeling of well being. I couldn’t wait for my first encounter with the magnificent grey seal.
I never noticed the days passing. During one afternoon a fishing vessel had stopped by and pulled up alongside the quay on the South Island. A group of people disembarked to explore the natural beauty that is the Iniskea Islands.
Conversations ensued well into the early evening when the boat returned to take the weary but satisfied explorers back to the main land. The skipper of the boat had been fishing, hauling nets throughout the day.
It was during this operation that a grey seal was found entangled in the nets. It had drowned. The seal was placed upon the pier for all to see.
The sheer beauty of this fine animal, pitiful, large, round, dark eyes, long snout whiskers and a fine fur lined patterned coat. Unfortunately this was to be my first encounter, so close and heartfelt, so lifeless and saddened.
Determined to swim with live greys we continued to search every available known area. Eventually we took to the sea in a semi-rigid inflatable boat (R.I.B. for short).
Island after Island we encountered nothing. After some hours I noticed what looked like an unsubmerged reef in the distance. Coming to within 500 meters of the rock, I could see the outlines of seals basking in the mid day sun.
Excited my friend eased off on the throttle so as not to spook the occupants and brought us to within 200 meters of the colony. I went over the side, video gear in hand.
In a mass of bubbles I righted myself and headed toward the grouping. Aware of the potential dangers I gently approached the rock using the rise between troughs to propel me closer.
With my cover blown, some of the smaller seals clambered awkwardly off the outcrop into the open ocean, heads periodically popping out of the water to check my whereabouts. I clambered onto the rock, resting to get my breath back.
Gently I positioned myself and my camera, close enough to observe but far enough away so as not to frighten. As it turned out most of the older occupants passed no notice. The quite silence was broken when a large male grey started to bark.
First on my left hand side then ahead of me others joined in. It’s as if they were reassuring themselves of the situation at hand. Alternatively it could have been served as a warning notice? I had never heard the bark of a seal before. It sent a chill down my spine.
I sat, watched and listened as I counted over 200 seals. Lost in the beauty before me it was some time before I realised I had better get back in the water in order to rendezvous with the boat. I didn’t want to leave; I loved this more than anything I had experienced. I wanted to freeze time and stay out here. One might think it’s a lonely existence? However with a purpose, it can be the most awe-inspiring place. I wished I could turn into a seal for a day, go fishing, bask in the noonday sun, and do all the things seals do. But time was of the essence. We had to return. Sense is the driving force, one that should never be ignored.
I slid gently into the oncoming swell and waited for the undersurge to pull me back into the open ocean. Looking underwater I noticed the rock sloped steeply into the abyss. From the charts I reckoned I was swimming in water some 40 meters deep. Kelp swayed lazily to and fro with the tidal surge.
All around me seals darted by, obviously more adept at swimming in open water than moving on dry land. I thought of the film by Luc Besson entitled ‘Atlantis’. Another Frenchman, Eric Serra, wrote the sound track. The film takes place entirely underwater; there is no narrative, only moving images of marine life and music.
The combination works because Besson leaves it to your imagination as to what the unfolding story is. Truth is, there is no story, just a beautiful collection of images of sea creatures. The point? Well it’s the closest anyone can get to experience what it’s really like being with marine animals without getting wet!
Back in the boat we headed for the Islands. Hungry, wet and cold I couldn’t help feel that what I had experienced was like a dream. Night time fell at a furious pace.
Back in the cabin I warmed to the glow of a gas heater. My mind was filled with the thoughts of a return trip. Sadly I haven’t returned since but at least I have the memory.